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“Well you’re no child of Man, that’s for near certain… I don’t believe they’ve changed so much in the time I’ve been away that their girl-children are suddenly boasting full figures at the age your height would suggest. Have they?” A slap to the great blonde head was all the response that comment was getting from the tiny parcel perched on his shoulders.
Far from thwarted, the blonde elf of legend continued in this vein of inquiry as they trudged through waist high swamp waters through the dank, dark cavern the misguided trio had fallen into, “I know for a fact Elven children haven’t changed in that manner, nor are we near that short tempered so no Elf are you. Dwarrow perhaps? Though I must admit I’ve never seen a dwarrowdam or dwarfling quite so small or quite so beardless, assuming, once more, that approximate age and body development hasn’t become skewed in recent centuries.”
When no answer save a continued stone silence from both his compatriots was forthcoming the Elf smirked wickedly, “Your disposition does make a fine argument for the relationship to the ‘little fathers’ as it were. Perhaps you’re a decendant of Fairy? Albeit I always thought it myth that such creatures existed, or that they would deign to blend with mortal workings but I’m hardly one to suggest anything to be impossible.”
The plump pink mouth, all that was visible below the sopping wet black hood of the tiny thief, scowled as she continued to clutch at the long gold hair of her erstwhile pony, her legs held firmly by strong arms at the booted calves. With clear exasperation in a surprisingly low voice for such a tiny creature (surely it should have been far higher pitched, though it was rather pleasantly lilting and feminine), “Why don’t you ask Figwit back there for his take on the situation? Though I appreciate your not throwing Orc or Gobblin into the potential signifiers.”
Hearing his newly gifted name fall from that snide little mouth, Lindir was, once again questioning this was happening to him. He was fully sure this wasn’t in his job description; he was, after all, a musician. There was nowhere in his preferred make up a need to be traipsing through the darkness and flotsam after a tiny thief and that golden haired idiot, Glorfindel. As a matter of fact, he was almost positive the caring of Glorfindel fell entirely on the shoulders of his Lord Elrond directly, or those of his sons Elrohir and Elladan. How anyone thought Elrohir or Elladan should ever be left with the care of someone so old, powerful, or blatantly senile was beyond the courtly elf but that was not his job either. No Lindir was meant to be performing with his fellows at his lord’s dinner. There was absolutely no reason he should find himself in this situation whatsoever.
Yet here he was, waist deep and fully saturated in some foul water that had apparently been sitting at the bottom of this cavern in this swampy marsh for the better part of a century, collecting mildew, bat droppings, and whatever other jetsam that happened by. He couldn’t and didn’t wish to put a signifier to any of it, least of all that tiny nuisance that had led him to this disgrace. He was following after the hero of legend where he was trudging through the disgusting waters, holding the tiny thief on his shoulders as they’d found out very quickly (and terrifyingly) that the creature could not, in fact, swim. She was drenched and her dark cloak was stuck to her skin, but she refused to remove the hood, even as she clung to the head of her stead. She also refused to tell either elf who or what she was. They were fairly certain she was not fully grown, there were indicators in her manner that suggested adolescence, yet she was so tiny as to appear a human or elf youngling. Lindir was leaning more towards Dwarf if he were to lower himself to this inane guessing game. She had been shockingly rude and called the pair ‘weed eaters,’ the preferred dwarrow aspersion for their kind, right before they’d fallen into this underground hell. Though even he was in some little bit of doubt concern this as she’d allowed the war hero to save her from the waters and graciously thanked him for the assistance, only clouting him in the head after he’d insulted her survival skills. Much too easy mannered and playful for traditional dwarrow standards, but that left them in a bit of a conundrum, seeing neither knew of anything else she could be.
Lindir was determined, however, to remain begrudgingly silent, as they’d continued forward, partially due to the fact that he had no idea why she insisted on that ridiculous name, and partly because he was beyond through with the entire scenario. It was very possible she was of fey ancestry with her slight figure and penchant for mischief. He could attest to that, as it had been that self same mischief that had led them into this situation. Lindir had caught the tiny thing slinking through flitting about Lord Elrond’s private quarters; leather clad paws grasping his lord’s circlet! The courtier could hardly allow his Lord’s finery to be stolen after so many years of cherished memory. It had been a gift commissioned by his late wife! But he had never regretted anything as much as he regretted the swift pursuit he’d given after the tiny thing at this moment, bat droppings periodically dripping from the colony above them in the darkness, plopping into the water to float in the slough. A new circlet could have easily been ordered made, this stench, however, would haunt his dreams for centuries to come, he was sure of it. Certainly the inclusion of the fabled Elf Lord hadn’t been one of Lindir’s better stratagems. He’d have been better off had he went out of his way to find Erestor than merely accept the aid of the lunatic epic when he’d ran into him in his pursuit of the flighty creature.
Either way, Lindir was not engaging the ridiculous due in front of him and blatantly refused to look at the pair as Glorfindel turned about to walk backwards and ask for his input. Of course Lindir had underestimated the extent of the golden elf’s desire for acknowledgement and his complete lack of patience at the moment. Around the fifty-second singsong echo of his name from a pair of obnoxious twits, and a large drop of something falling into his hair he’d snapped, “WHAT?!”
The reverberation of his response shook the walls and bounced through the cavern as the trio stared at each other. As it finally diminished in the distance the duo looked up/down at each other and then stared at the panting courtier, both sporting wicked grins as they observed their handiwork. The tiny thief was opening her obnoxious maw right as an ear splitting shriek rent the air in twine. Three sets of eyes widened in horror as a sudden din of rushing wind roared through their existence, and before they could so much as begin to realize their predicament the cavern and trio were overrun with flapping leathery wings and warm shrieking bodies. Gold and black hair caught and restrained those wings as sharp claws slashed from panicky feet and sharp teeth bit at the faces and heads of the incumbent. The creatures were approximately the size of the elves heads, making them approximately half the size of the wee thief. Making it far too easy to knock her off the large shoulders and back into the quagmire. Luckily the Elf hero was accomplished in surprises, normally of the attack variety but this could technically be qualified as suck, and swiftly reached firm hands down into the mire to scoop up the thrashing creature. He then grasped the terrified and traumatized courtier, threw him over his shoulder and raced through the cavern. They didn’t loose the winged fiends until Glorfindel rocketed the trio out of the caverns onto a ledge that housed the cave’s entrance. Unfortunately, the sudden glare of day blinded the fleeing Elf warrior and he didn’t realize there was a cliff dropping into a deep pool thirty some feet below until the air was already under his racing boots.
Somehow, Lindir found himself with an armful of drowning lass, wide amber eyes filled with terror as she clutched at his neck, their black hair tangling together in the swim to shore. Glorfindel was there with a hand for the tiny creature and one for Lindir, the trio collapsing to the grassy shore as they tried to recall what a normal breathing pattern was. Just as they were beginning to come down from the terror of their previous experience the tiny girl child with the surprisingly pointed ears shrieked as something began kicking and frantically thrashing in her cloak. Lindir jumped after the haunted material as Glorfindel cut the thing from the small one’s neck and thrust it from the trio. A rather large trout bounced twice on the shore before it was released back into the lake from whence it came. Three pairs of eyes shared a wide-eyed stare before laughter swelled through the glen and broke the serenity of their tiny haven.
That was how Elrond and his hunting party found the three when they rode up to the lake to offer their horses some rest and sustenance. The Lord’s brow was raised in surprise at his normally rather dignified courtier’s bedraggled appearance as he clutched his stomach and heaved in mirth, his black hair drenched and sticky with what appeared to be refuse. But where Elrond merely had a spasmodic quirking of the mouth, his son Elrohir fell right off his mount, taking his brother, Elladan, with him. Seeing the little hobbit curled in the middle of his men he partially turned in his saddle and asked his small friend riding behind him, “I believe we’ve found your daughter dear Bella.”
At the sound of her mother’s voice, “It seems so milord,” Bilbo turned her amber gaze up and found her unhooded mama astride the Elf Lord’s mount, looking down at her in droll amusement. With a crooked smile she cheerily waved from her seat, “Hi mama!” Looking around at the rest of the party Bilbo suddenly turned a wee bit bashful and ran over to her wrecked cloak and fished a mithril circlet out of the interior pocket. She meandered to the Lord’s side and held the glowing treasure up to the surprised Lord with a self-conscious smile. With raised brow and thinned lips, still twitching at the corners, Elrond nodded his thanks to the youth and suggested they retire to the valley. He decidedly ignored the argument his children suddenly had over the rights to the young hobbit. He did, however, laugh as Glorfindel solved the problem entirely by corralling Elrohir’s mount and snatched up the lass as his own. Her mother started giggling behind him as her little one roared at the golden Elf, “I’m not a bleedin’ Fairy you cock eyed, orc rutting, bastard!”
Lindir let the walloping Glorfindel was taking from the surprisingly violent and spry little hobbit (as he was told she was by Erestor as they rode behind their lord) appease his need for revenge on the aggravator. He would have to be satisfied with that, as now he was being harassed by the twin lordlings and only wished for a half dozen hot baths and a week locked in his quiet, solitary rooms.